Baby Take My Hand
by lovablegeek
Summary: [PreRENT] The loft feels different depending on who's home. Benny never could figure out what kind of place it is when Maureen's there. BennyMaureen. [One shot]


It's funny how the loft seems to change so much depending on who's home, so much that, in effect, it's not the same place at all, but a different loft for every one of your roommates, and still different with different combinations of people. When you're here alone, it's quiet enough that you don't hear anything except your own heartbeat and the pulse of the city just outside—it's not an oppressive silence; it's inviting, open, waiting for you to make a change. With Collins here, it's safe and intimate, a place you can talk about anything. With Roger here, it's loud music and minimal interaction, and when you do speak, it's often taunting or teasing, good-natured rivalry with barbs underneath. With Mark here, it's quiet and intense and hyper-focused, and you notice all the details of things, and the meanings behind those details—with all of that, emotions get pushed aside and buried in Mark's loft. Sometimes you wonder what kind of place the loft is when you aren't in it.

And today it's just you and Maureen. The loft with her is as multilayered as she is, intimate but far from safe, teasing and playful with all kinds of uncertainties underneath, music turned up loud on the stereo interspersed with odd and unexpected silences full of God knows what. You never could figure out or pin down the kind of place the loft is with Maureen in it.

You're lying on the couch reading the paper; Maureen has her music turned on, maybe a little too loud but still at tolerable levels, and is humming along, singing a few lines here and there. She's sitting in one of the chairs, feet pulled up and tucked under her, and is staring into space as she hums to herself, daydreaming something unfathomable. You don't even try to guess what's in Maureen's mind anymore—you know you could never come close.

She glances over at you abruptly, tilting her head to one side so that her hair falls against her cheek. You glance up from the paper briefly, then back down. When she's watching you like that, her dark eyes always seem, bigger, deeper. You won't admit it to yourself, even, but it scares you a little when she looks at you like that. You're never sure what she sees. "Benny?" she says in that gentle sing-song way she has, accenting each syllable of your name separately. You know if you look up, she'll be smiling at you, her little almost-smile with the strangest combination of innocence and wickedness only Maureen could manage.

You can't avoid looking up at her now, and you glance up again—sure enough, there's that smile. True, she usually only smiles like that when she wants something from you, but you love to see it anyway. "Yeah?"

She's still smiling, and it's amazing how that smile can hold so many things at once, contradictory but somehow _right_. Maureen has a playful smile, a secretive Mona Lisa "I know something you don't know" smile, a beatific saint's smile, a teasingly inviting whore's smile, and one that contains all of those. That's the one she has directed at you now. She bounces to her feet smoothly, an effortless movement that leaves you wondering how she managed that without tripping in the process of unfolding her legs from underneath her and standing up all without seeming to expend any effort at all. She holds her hand out to you, palm up, as if waiting for you to take her hand. "Dance with me?" Her voice lifts at the end like it's a question, but you both know it's not.

You sit up, fold the paper carefully and set it aside on the couch, all the while giving her a flat, level look. "I'd rather not…" You really don't know why you bother anymore—she always gets her way with you one way or another, and no amount of protesting ever changes that.

Maureen rolls her eyes and leans forward to grasp your wrist, trying to pull you up. "Come on, Benny, please?" You only resist for a second before letting her pull you up, though you keep giving her that frustrated, pleading look, hoping she's not seriously going to make you dance with her.

"Maureen…" You sigh, unable to find any argument that's going to talk her out of this, because _nothing_ talks Maureen out of something once she's gotten it into her head. You know that, have known that for a long time, but you still keep trying. "You know I don't dance."

She grins up at you, taunting. "That's a _lie_, Benny." When you raise an eyebrow at her, inviting her to explain the accusation, she smirks. "Collins told me you used to dance. You just need to loosen up." She lifts your hand above her head and twirls under it, still smiling brightly as she stops and pulls you closer to her, her body against yours, and she rests her cheek against your chest as she looks up at you, those big dark eyes pleading. "C'mon, Benny… please?"

You never had been able to say no to her.


End file.
